


Winter in Paris

by RevolutionariesDontWearPlaid (GhostGrantaire)



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Era, Christmas, Courferre Holiday Exchange, Dorks in Love, Fluff, M/M, Seriously this is just wintery christmas fluff, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-19
Updated: 2014-12-19
Packaged: 2018-03-02 04:09:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2799035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostGrantaire/pseuds/RevolutionariesDontWearPlaid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Everyone is at home, mon amour.  We are alone.” Courfeyrac responded sleepily.  “Now hush, it is night.”<br/>Combeferre hesitantly disregarded his caution, allowing a small smirk to grace his lips.  “I have never known you to be quiet during the night.”<br/>Courfeyrac laughed quietly.  “I have never heard you complain before.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Winter in Paris

**Author's Note:**

  * For [satb31](https://archiveofourown.org/users/satb31/gifts).



> This is my first fic on this site, which is crazy, and also my first canon era piece! I hope you enjoy! Joyeux noël!

_December, 1831_

 

            The Parisian streets were nearly abandoned, something that was nearly never seen.  There was a glitter in the air, the snow reflecting the dying embers in the street lamps lining the cobble stone road.  The old, near sick, smell of the streets was lightened by the sweeter smell of fresh bread leaking out of a bakery down the road, reminding the city of morning though it was long past sunset already.  Most of the people of Paris were at home, if they had one to be at, warm as they could be with their family, sharing love and small gifts as the holidays rolled around.  Those who didn’t have this set up were almost surely huddled up, hopefully not alone, relaxed despite the cold.  Christmas Eve.  One of the few nights they didn’t truly have to worry over getting beaten by the police.

            On the dark alley adjacent to Rue de Gres, a couple of Paris’ children sat by the wall, hitting hands together, and humming familiar tunes.  However their small moment of happy aloneness was broken suddenly as a door banged open and out stumbled a young man, just having passed the point of being a boy.  His curly hair was drooping in his eyes as he sung a song loudly, tipsy on wine, but utterly drunk on happiness.  “ _De bon matin, j’ai rencontre le train, de trios grand Rois qui allaient en voyage, de bon—“_

“Courfeyrac!”  The door opened again and a taller man followed out, his face a calm combination of concern and amusement.  He pulled his cap slightly lower on his head in a feeble attempt to cover his ears from the cold.  He gave a little smile as he spotted his comrade, crossing to him quickly.  Courfeyrac looked over his shoulder and spotted his friend, and his grin calmed into something less manic but much more genuine.

            “Combeferre!” he exclaimed, “I was wondering if you would follow me.”

            Combeferre smiled, his friend’s joy seeping into his.  “Ah, but I would follow you to the ends of the earth, mon ami.”

            Courfeyrac threw back his head and laughed, a gesture so incredible that Combeferre found it near impossible to draw his eyes away.  “Combeferre, I know you say that in jest, but in jest there is truth.”

            He held out his arm in a gentlemanly fashion, and Combeferre hooked his own in it though he rolled his eyes.  They began to amble down the street, only making it a few steps before Combeferre stopped, looking up in realization.

            “I did not think it would snow tonight.”  He said, closing his eyes for a second to embrace the cold flutters on his skin.

            “It is bitterly cold, dear fellow, this snow is slight.”  Courfeyrac reasoned, bringing Combeferre’s eyes back down and blue met brown, their gaze shining in the dull light of the lamps.

            The door opened once more and they were covered in the warm yellow light from the café.  The two’s heads turned in uniform motion, landing on their smaller friend who lit up happily as he spotted them.

            “Ah, I had hoped to catch you!”  The young man spoke to them joyfully, running out to them, a small bundle tucked in his arm.  “Courfeyrac, you left your coat.  Tonight is not a good night for such carelessness,” he reprimanded with a smile.

            “Joly, mon cher, what would I do without you?”  Courfeyrac chuckled, taking the garment from his and wrapping it around his shoulders.

            “Perish, surely.”  Joly responded just as the door opened once more and another gentleman stepped out.  “I also brought you some wine.  It is Christmas Eve, after all, and the night is hardly over.”

            Combeferre accepted the gift with a wide smile.  “Joly, you keep the holidays bright.  Have a good night.  And do make sure Enjolras does not forget himself up there.  As you said, it _is_ Christmas Eve.”

            “Sometimes I think he does not know the meaning of the word,” Joly laughed.  “But I will do my best.  Good night, mes amis!”  The young student ran back up the stairs to the café, humming a sweet melody under his breath.

            Combeferre turned back to Courfeyrac, who was staring at something past Combeferre’s shoulders.  The man turned, surprised to spot two young, dirtied children watching them from the corner’s shadows.  They jumped when Combeferre’s gaze landed on them and made to run away when Courfeyrac made a sudden noise of protest, reaching into his pocket.  He walked over slowly, gave them a happy grin and handed over two francs, one for each of the gamins.  Combeferre lent his own gentle smile, removing the cap from his head and placing it on the head of the boy, who looked several years younger than the girl.

            Slowly, the children returned their smiles.  “Merci, messieurs!” The girl exclaimed before grabbing the boy’s hand and running back to the darkness.

            Courfeyrac laughed, exalted on the holiday season.  “Well, now we may go about making our way home,” he conceded, turning and linking his arm with Combeferre’s once more.

            Combeferre did not say anything, content to simply walk beside the man, feeling the snow hit his hair harder now that he had lost his hat.  They moved about the street with an air of comfort, knowing these streets better than they knew around their own rooms.  After several minutes of wandering, Courfeyrac abandoned pretenses and shifted his arm so it could wrap around Combeferre’s waist firmly, leaning his head against the taller man’s shoulder.

            “Courfeyrac,” Combeferre hissed, stiffening slightly.  “We are in public, if someone should see—“

            “Everyone is at home, mon amour.  We are alone.” Courfeyrac responded sleepily.  “Now hush, it is night.”

            Combeferre hesitantly disregarded his caution, allowing a small smirk to grace his lips.  “I have never known you to be quiet during the night.”

            Courfeyrac laughed quietly.  “I have never heard you complain before.”

            “You never will,” Combeferre confessed in a whisper, recklessly placing a sweet tender kiss on his lover’s head, feeling his body’s heat underneath the cold tendrils of hair.

            Courfeyrac shuddered under the affection and picked up his head, placing a gentle kiss of his own on Combeferre’s jaw.  He then reached for the wine held in Combeferre’s free hand with a wicked smirk.  “I feel we should celebrate,” he said, his voice slightly louder now.  Combeferre raised his eyebrows in a silent question.  “We should celebrate our eternal love.  And Christmas.”

            Combeferre laughed as Courfeyrac opened the bottle swiftly and took a long sip before passing it to the other man, who took a much humbler sip before replying, “you say that as though our love,” his voice softened slightly on the word, “comes before the holiday.”

            “Darling, our love precedes everything.”  Courfeyrac said dramatically, sending a beautiful grin back.

            Combeferre laughed, choking slightly on the drink.  “Enjolras would surely ruin you if he heard you just now.”

            Courfeyrac rolled his eyes.  “Our love is not for Enjolras.  Besides, don’t you ever want to shout from the rooftops?  Exclaim every ounce of passion you ever felt?”

            Combeferre chuckled and shook his head.  “That speech is for Marius, and you perhaps, but not me.”  He looked up and met his lover’s eyes, which were now tainted with the smallest twinge of doubt.  He quickly spoke further.  “I prefer to keep my passion for you alone, where nobody can ruin it at all.  Why should I waste my breath on others when you are all that matters?”

            Coufeyrac smiled brightly, linking arms with Combeferre once more and stealing back his wine.  “You shall drive me to death with such talk, I’m sure of it.  But I can’t think of a better way to go.”

            They walked in silence a while longer, happy to simply soak in each other’s presence.  They turned a corner, stopping as they spotted a young woman, asleep, huddled beneath two tattered blankets and not much else.

            Silently, Combeferre held out his hand, and Courfeyrac placed in it the mostly full bottle of wine for Combeferre to close once more with the cork.  He slowly placed it beside the lady, careful not to disturb her slumber.  After a moment, he returned to the smaller man, reaching down to take his hand.

            They moved a bit further, not speaking until well out of the woman’s hearing range, and even then they found it difficult to find words.

            “Things will change.  Soon.”  Combeferre murmured, not sure whether he was speaking for himself or Courfeyrac.

            “Of course.”  Courfeyrac agreed readily.  He paused before saying, “but to be so cold, so alone, on Christmas Eve-“

            “Things will change,” Combeferre repeated, silencing the other man.  “And she is not alone.  She has Paris.”

            Courfeyrac managed a smile, closing his eyes as the snow continued to fall.  The silence that ruled the night swept over them, but they were barely chilled, warm from the wine and the other’s hand in their own.

            “Will we be together next Christmas, do you suppose?” Courfeyrac piped up, staring down the road in wonder.

            Combeferre looked at his briefly before returning his gaze back to the front.  “Of course.  I can not think of a reason we should not be.”

            Courfeyrac looked up at Combeferre, his eyes sparkling and his hair littered with snowflakes.  “I do believe I am a little in love with you, monsieur.”  He paused before laughing loudly.  “Well that was a horrid, monstrous lie, I am _completely_ in love with you, you—“ Combeferre cut him off quickly by sealing their mouths together.

            There were rats running along the streets.  The air was damp and cold and the pavement smelled horrible, as the entire city did.  There were dozens of men and women, not to mention children, alone, with nobody but Paris for a friend.  And yet, in the chilling air, for one second, everything was perfect. 

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, Courfeyrac's line was shamelessly stolen from Brick Eponine. :)


End file.
